Imprisoned
by Kylara Kitsune
Summary: Hermione offers an imprisoned Draco Malfoy a deal. Help her, and avoid the fate of the Death Eaters. Refuse, and suffer further punishment. There's only one thing he can do.


**AN: Another long-forgotten story, this time Draco/Hermione. Prompt 66 from the 100 list - "traps".**

The woman sitting opposite me doesn't look dangerous, in fact, she appears quite the opposite. Startlingly thin in her black and white dress, delicate sandals on her feet. Then I look at her face, and I recall that this is Hermione Granger, the mastermind behind the Order of the Phoenix raid that landed me here. Appearances have never been so deceptive.

"Granger."

"Malfoy."

Neither of us bother to disguise our dislike, we never have. She's a mudblood, Potter's right-hand woman, and I'm a Malfoy. If that doesn't say it all... well, where have you been for the last five years? Though I'm not, and never have been, a Death Eater, I had the misfortune to be at the manor on the night when the Order of the Phoenix attacked. Most of those captured have already been killed, sentenced to death as a result of bearing the Dark Mark. I don't, my forearms are bare. I push my sleeves up, to remind her of this fact.

"What do you want?" Might as well get straight to the point, I figured.

"I know, although some people are reluctant to admit it," she doesn't need to say who - I already know, "that you aren't a Death Eater. I've come to offer you a deal."

"How noble of you, Granger. Did Potter send you?"

"No, he didn't." She sighed, pushed back her unruly hair. I was hoping for a flash of anger, I'd always liked fighting with her. Instead, she just seemed miserable. "I'm offering you a chance to get out of here."

"In return for...?"

"Some help."

I'm tempted to turn her down flat, but I've seen enough of this tiny room, had enough of Potter and Weasley sneering when they bring my food or escort me to the bathroom. I wave my hand, indicating for her to continue.

"You're good at Potions, aren't you?"

"What about it?"

"We need someone who can brew healing potions and so on. I don't have the time any more."

"You'd trust me to do that?" I'm surprised. I could slip all sorts of things into a potion.

"You'd be supervised, of course. But it would get you out of here."

"What makes you think I'd agree?"

"I don't. But I thought I'd offer."

Honesty. A pleasant surprise, I must admit. "Keep talking, Granger." So she does. If I agree, I'll be moved to an undisclosed location, along with her. I'd brew potions while she researches and draws up plans. Technically, I'd still be a prisoner, but I wouldn't be confined like I am here. It sounds tempting, even if it does mean sharing living space with her. "I get the feeling I'm walking into a trap, but it's better than staying here. I accept."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It's been a week, and I'm getting used to being here now. All I know is that Granger and I are living in splendid isolation near the coast - I wake up every morning to the sound of seagulls, and there's a deserted stretch of beach just outside. The cottage is big enough that we can avoid each other most of the time, though we work in the same room. I brew potions - today, it's Pepper-up potion - and she writes endless notes on rolls of parchment, then rips them up and rewrites them. That thing she's writing with looks weird, though - it isn't a quill, and there's no ink bottle. I don't ask, though. Neither of us enter into conversation unless we have to. It suits us both.

I wait until she's out of the room, then wander over to her table. I can't help being curious about that writing implement, even if it is a Muggle invention. It looks convenient.

"It's called a biro." I jump at the sound of her voice, dropping the... biro. She couldn't have been gone for more than a minute. I rack my brain for a witty reply, but words fail me for once. "You can have that one, I've got plenty more."

I open my mouth to refuse, but my hand reaches out of its own accord and takes it. I hurry back to my potion before I do something even more embarrassing, like thank her.

I keep my head down for days, leaving scrawled notes on her desk whenever we need to communicate. She does the same. She's realised I'm avoiding her. We don't even speak at mealtimes.

"Why isn't it working?" The pen, that I'd just been labelling vials with, had suddenly stopped writing.

"Catch!"

Something small came flying across the room. It's a good job I still have the reflexes of a seeker, or I'd never have caught it. It's another pen. "What's wrong with the other one?"

"It's probably run out of ink, that's all. Throw it in the bin."

I do what she says, deciding it must be normal. She's the expert, after all.

That night, I'm woken up by a scream. It's Granger, in the room next door. Deciding I'd better check on her, I push the door open. She's thrashing about on the bed, clearly having a nightmare. Nothing else to do but wake her.

"Granger! Granger, wake up." She ends up clutching my arms tightly, her eyes wild. I shake her gently, and she slowly wakes up, breathing heavily. "Are you ok?"

"I... I think so."

It was a ridiculous situation to be in. Two people who had always hated each other, one comforting the other after a bad dream. I was only wearing boxers, it's all I sleep in, and she wore a flimsy bit of satin, not at all what I'd expected from the prudish Granger. Part of me couldn't help wondering whether she'd bought it to impress Weasley.

"Don't leave me."

If she'd been properly awake, she wouldn't have said it. If I'd been fully awake, I'd have ignored it. But we weren't. I ended up sliding under the covers of her bed, still holding her. We were both asleep within minutes.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

I hadn't felt so comfortable in ages. Warm, with someone's arms around my waist. Then I opened my eyes, and remembered what had happened the night before. I think about sneaking out, then see that a pair of brown eyes are already watching me.

"Morning, Granger."

"Call me Hermione. We're not at Hogwarts any more."

"Hermione, then." The name sounds strange. I don't think I've ever used it before.

I can't help watching her as she gets out of bed and gathers up some clothes. The satin nightdress is short, revealing long, slim legs. The lingerie she pulls from a drawer is sexy too - lemon yellow lace. She's just full of surprises, this morning. I comment on it, before she walks out of the room. She doesn't answer, just blushes and hurries out.

That day, we actually start talking. Nothing of real consequence, but it's a change from the hostile silence that had existed before.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Slowly, something unexpected happened. We became friends, the mudblood and the pureblood, the Gryffindor and the Slytherin, the Granger and the Malfoy. She lifted the restrictions that had been in place - I was allowed out of the house. Not that I went far, but I was officially a prisoner no longer. One day, I walked into the small town that was a mile or so from out cottage, bought some wine and chocolates.

A few nights later, our work complete, we sit down in front of the Muggle contraption called a television. Hermione puts a flat, shiny disc into the box underneath the television. I open the wine, and we watch something called a film, and get tipsy. By the time we finish the first bottle, we're leaning against each other, laughing.

"You look so much better when you smile."

When we were at Hogwarts, smiling was against the Malfoy code of behaviour. Now, all that seems so long ago, so pointless.

She's leaning against me, almost but not quite hugging me. I feel the need for more alcohol. She doesn't protest when I open the second bottle, refilling both glasses. While I'm doing that, she changes the disc in the box (still don't know what that contraption is called) and we watch another film.

By the end, I've decided what I'm going to do. Perhaps it's the influence of the alcohol, or perhaps it's because I actually feel like I know her, and she's not just the mudblood princess. She's Hermione Granger, greatest witch of her generation. I always knew it, but I was just too stubborn, and too jealous, to admit it earlier.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Draco?"

She glances up at me when she replies, and I take the opportunity to kiss her. It's obvious she isn't expecting it, but she doesn't pull away and slap me in the face. She's tentative, as she starts to respond, but she is responding to me. It's a new experience for me, a girl who's shy and unsure. I run one hand through her hair, the wild, unruly curls I'd teased her about so often. They're softer than I expected, silky rather than bushy, now.

When she pulls back to look at me, her eyes are sparkling. They're not just brown any more, there are flecks of gold, too. I'd never noticed that. Both of us are searching for the right words, but struggling. Instead, she kisses me again, a light touch of her lips on mine. It's enough, it says all that needs to be said.

Whoever would have predicted this? Not me, that's for sure.


End file.
